


Bare

by Eicinic



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (Healing:, (Hints of: sexual scenes, Bittersweet, Development, Existentialism, F/M, In which sometimes it's not a matter of saving a city, Intimacy, Learning to let go of things in order to take steps forward, Mention of Death, Vulnerability, bareness, but a single person, hurt/comfort), willpower)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eicinic/pseuds/Eicinic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m Marinette”, she offered. “You saved me a couple of times years ago”.<br/>Marinette. Chat’s heart thrummed again, quite painfully. Marinette had been Adrien’s classmate. A shy, sweet girl that never had a proper conversation with him. Chat couldn’t really remember much of her except that time he, effectively, saved her of Nathanael. But not even that day, because his attention was on Ladybug. His attention had always been for Ladybug and when he pushed her away, winter took over Paris.<br/>That’s how he usually felt:<i> iced inside. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bare

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic thanks to my angel Pixie ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧ I hope the sad here and there is not too overwhelming! I wondered for long what would happen when they fight Hawkmoth...

Home we are

don’t wash me blue

i’ll endanger this fire

a poisoned fume

Now I’m done, stay clear

play it out loud on this

I’ve spent too long blind

and now i’m trying to hurt you

 

**[But you’ve seen me bare](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJuGSUeiE-s) **

and seen me covered up

Maybe i’m not scared

what you’re thinking of

You’ve seen me here

and held me miles away

underneath my skin.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

His eyes are smitten with the open world at his feet. As if towering over it gives him the fearless certainty that if he jumps, his bones will crush against the ground 36 seconds later. No _miracle_ would save him from his own death.

/Death/, which was, right now, his only choice of freedom; the control over his own life and body. It took him five years of denial to understand, at this point, Adrien Agreste was his disguise.

As years went by and he grew up, Plagg was able to hold on the miraculous for an increasing amount of time, always that there wasn’t a fight involved, yet it was no longer necessary as Hawkmoth was dead and, with him, Gabriel Agreste.

Back in time, when the realization that his own father wouldn’t recant of his pursue of the miraculous even if it was ought to destroy his son, _Ladybug had saved him_. She was the one to put an ending to his whole life when Hawkmoth’s head hit the floor with a dry thud and the dark, red expansion of blood trapped Chat’s gaze for an eternity, despite the desperate voice of her lady calling out to him, shaking his shoulder.

It took nearly seven months of the seventeen year old Adrien Agreste to understand the sacrifice of Ladybug. He wouldn’t be a fratricidal because **she was a murderer**. She saved him despite herself. When Adrien found a way to stop blaming her and changed his skin for the black leather suit again, she was long gone. Everything was long gone: his father, his friends, his lady.

Chat scooted closer to the edge of the highest point of the Eiffel Tower. The people at his feet were so small, so meaningless.

Thinking fighting Hawkmoth was an escape to his daily oppressive life had been nothing but an overdramatic response to what being Chat Noir really was: the only current reason for his existence, held onto the fragile reality in which miracles were no longer needed, so Chat was, by means, useless to society. Innecessary.

Plagg stayed by his side, so he took it as the only conviction getting him up everyday: the world always needs heroes. There was nothing extraordinary in balancing crime in Paris by using his body as a barricade: the body of Adrien Agreste, an empty, consumed carcass. Sometimes, when he had no option but to stare at his own reflection- the one that once set a standard in society- and follow with those green eyes the grooves of his ribs under the surface of his skin, he wondered if, maybe, those grooves were the roots of the tree that grew inside him, feeding off his emptiness just to leave him to the understanding he was yet alive, and that was worse than just void.  

“Are you ready?” He asked to the empty air in front of him, but he was talking to Plagg. There was a time in which he could talk to a partner. But that, as he was taking a run up, was long gone. He jumped.

The vertigo twisted his stomach painfully, his heart in his throat as if he was about to throw it up, _could’ve been a good solution,_ and 30 seconds later the extreme of his baton hit the ground with a sharp clang and he was rising above the city again. Years of recklessness made him experienced enough as to take risks he wouldn’t have times ago. He was able of not touching the ground and swing along the rooftops of a Paris starting to fall into the dark like he was made to belong with the night.

He landed softly and ran at his full speed across the roof of a building to throw himself out of it a moment later, displaying a fluid elegant somersault that ended with his feet hitting the next rooftop with barely the sound of the rubber rasping against the ground. His heart was hammering against his ribcage painfully due to the adrenaline, reminding him it was there, and i _t worked just fine._

He knew he could run across the whole expanse of Paris for the rest of the night, taking in the ordinary lives of the people of the city, routine that didn’t appeal to him anymore: eating in the balcony of a vintage restaurant, shopping last minute, kids skating over the stairs of the closest park, a cat with lazy eyes swinging his tail in the air when Chat approached him.

Once a teenager, he envied all of those things for himself. Now contemplating them from afar was the only thing that felt right.

And, as he took in the insights of his surroundings, he also visualized a small frame whose steps had something _familiar,_ and _familiar_ is a word whose meaning he buried along with the rest of Adrien Agreste’s identity. Curious, he followed it from the rooftops for a while enough to determine it was a woman, a clumsy one judging by the way she tripped over her own feet when she got distracted on a storefront that displayed the last pieces of the autumn parisian fashion collection.

Nothing has gotten his attention in the last months until now, and that’s why Chat decided to show up, climbing down the building without a single attempt of self-preservation until he landed in front of her. A drowned yelp kept by a fast hand over a red mouth, then the tightness of a _Chat_ that drew him closer. She said _Chat,_ not _Chat Noir._ He couldn’t exactly make out her features in the dark, but could appreciate her hair was obsidian and her frame small.

“Who are you”, he stated, simply, because _who was she_ , what this _familiar_ atmosphere around her was.

A pause. The roaming of the cars in the distance could have been a comforting coo if Chat wasn’t so tense. He didn’t finish his last year in high school, he dropped it and even though he revisited his education later, all of his high school friends were studying out of Paris, or, anyway, out of his reach. He pushed all of them away when they tried to approach him to offer their condolences, Chat didn’t want to see any pity on their faces. His father had never been much of a father to him, but he didn’t want to hear so from anyone. 

She took a hesitant step towards the closest streetlight, slowly circling him. The angles of her face were soft, even the lips and the nose. Her expression was definitely tense, said the light creases of her brow, but her eyes were  _welcoming._

“I’m Marinette. You saved me a couple of times years ago”.

 _Marinette_. Chat’s heart thrummed again, painfully. Marinette had been Adrien’s classmate. A shy, sweet girl that never had a proper conversation with him. Chat couldn’t really remember much of her except that time he, effectively, saved her of Nathanael. But not even that day, because his attention was on Ladybug. His attention had always been for Ladybug and when he pushed her away, winter took over Paris.

That’s how he usually felt: _iced inside._

Except now. There was a source of warmth over his right arm and it took him long seconds to understand it was Marinette’s hand over the black leather of his outfit.

“How have you been?” She asked, quietly.

Chat snorted through his nose, bitter. A civilian worrying over the well-being of a superhero _._

“Perfect, _princess_ ”, the nickname sounded resentful, even though he didn’t mean it. Chat cleared his throat and stepped away of her reach, suddenly uncomfortable. Marinette was part of Adrien’s life, not his. He should just go away.

He didn’t.

His heels were cemented on the ground as Marinette averted her gaze to her hands and entwined them, mouth tighter than before.

Why was she in Paris, wasn’t she sent away to study in New York? Why did they cross paths, why was she standing in front of him like she was making the effort of her life to be there.

He felt a sudden burst of irritation squeezing his chest. Even if Marinette had been part of Adrien’s life, she didn’t deserve to be treated rudely. They weren’t supposed to know each other, after all.

“What about you?” He tried, at least.

Marinette switched her weight from one leg to another before voicing very low:

“Would you mind walking with me… I need to get home…” Before Chat could regret it, he fell into a step easily with her, as if _out of habit_. “I miss a lot of things”, she started saying one minute later. “Missed home, missed my friends. Life in New York would had been easier if I could have just closed the door of what I was leaving behind.”

“It’s a choice” he offered, dryly, because it was true. 

Marinette took a few streets and a long pause to reply:

“Can we really take steps forward if we are inconsiderate of what we leave behind?”

Chat stared, brutally intense, peeling off her skin layer by layer. She was unable to meet his gaze, as shy as he could remember her, yet firm in her demeanor. _This is not the Marinette I used to know,_ which lead to **who is she?**

“B-but! Life in New York has been as amazing. I spent the first year visiting all the museums of the city and the cafés”.

“No parties?” He rasped out.

“No parties, only loads of work. College student life is pretty boring and routinary, all in all”.

As if he could know.

“Are you over with your studies?”

“Mm. We couldn’t afford it for longer so I’m finishing my last year in Paris. It’s surprising how much this city has changed…”

Did Paris change? Chat wasn’t sure. All of its corners looked the same to him over the years. Probably because he, indeed, hasn’t been paying attention. But then another question popped in his mind: why was she so comfortable talking to him? Her hands were relaxed but her voice sounded strained with emotion, yet she opened up to him as if they were familiar enough. As if she _trusted him._

It would make sense, since he was a hero, but it’s been _years_.

More importantly, why did he keep asking,

“what are your plans after college?”

“Master? I guess? I would like to have my own business, homemade costumes and all. Sounds like a huge pain in the ass, but I would be able to design whatever I wanted”. She offered a timid small smile in his direction before coming to a stop. “Would you… mind taking me to the rooftop? I don’t want to wake my parents”.

“Sure”. The girl’s body was already wrapped around him by the time he took the baton off his belt. The sudden warmth, along with the fresh smell of her hair froze him in place for one, two, three, four seconds. She entwined her fingers on the back of his neck, and pressed her body tight against his side. Chat’s hand was slightly trembling as he willed the baton to extend and raise them to the rooftop.

There she plugged on the LED lights and the small place lighted up with tons of different colors. It was a cozy, homely atmosphere. Even more when she handed him some macarons.

“They’re the best of the city. I can guarantee.”

To his own surprise, Chat accepted and quietly watched her take off the red coat and turn on the small, white heater.

“Has been fighting crime intense these years?”

“There are no longer akumas”, he replied dryly, as she tied her black hair up and gestured to the only chair in the small space. Chat refused.

“You wouldn’t be dressed as Chat Noir if you didn’t intend on making good in this city, would you?”

“Point made."

His gaze wondered around the small refugee, taking on every detail. Next to the box with sweets there was a photo of Ladybug and him. His body stilled.

“I used to admire her”, Marinette said softly. She was suddenly standing very close to him. Chat could relate to the feeling, at least the shadows of his memory could. He clenched his jaw. “But we grow up, and real life sometimes needs ordinary people more than extraordinary ones."

Chat’s eyes on her were like daggers.

“I think I remember you were more positive”, he stated, and earned a light shove on his side.

“I am” Marinette was still pursing her lips, as if she didn’t dare to smile yet the smile was there, tugging at the corners of her mouth. “But

_there are things you can’t escape from”._

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


“Unbelievable you saw that girl again”, Plagg commented, munching on his cheese. Chat wasn’t paying attention to him, currently looking at the news on TV without really seeing what it was being told. Something akin to war in the East, he might stop akumas but he couldn’t really stop bombs. His mind was trapped in a loop replaying his conversation with Marinette, the way she implied _superheroes are no longer needed for adults._ He knows he should rage about it because it’s contradicting the reason he exists, as the reporters are doing now. He turns off the TV and lets minutes slide through until he asks: why?

It isn’t directed to Plagg, but Plagg answers it anyway: “You could have met up with a lot of different people. But that girl? She only stuttered all of the time around you, she was a pain to talk to”.

“She doesn’t stutter around Chat.”

“Show up as Adrien and then we talk.”

That was out of the equation. A pause.

“Do you think she’s in touch with Alya or Nino?”

“How am I supposed to know, kiddo?”

Chat glared at him lightly, to earn a sneer from the kwami. No long after, Plagg was sighing heavily, finishing his cheese and mumbling around a mouthful: visit her tonight and ask her.

“Yea, sure, like, hey, are you in touch with your high school classmates? Yea well I have nothing to do with them but I still want their contacts if you don’t mind.”

The kwami rolled his eyes and fluttered around his head, like an annoying fly. Chat pushed him away.

“Be subtle. Just keep asking her questions about her life as you did yesterday”.

“Under what pretext?”

“Do you need one? You’re Chat Noir you can show up at anybody’s house if you want to.”

“How smug.”

Plagg emitted a sound similar to a hiss and Chat found himself smiling, despite all.

After a silence, the kwami tried again, pretending to be interested in the crumbs of what was left of his camembert:

“Probably she’s alone. She just arrived right? Doesn’t the semester start in October? She’s been in classes for one month only, she still lives with her parents…”

“Are you trying to get me hooked up with a girl?”

Plagg ignored his mocking tone.

“You can do well to her, she can do good to you what’s the matter?”

“She belongs to Adrien’s past.”

“She can belong to your future too.”

Chat narrowed his eyes and looked at the kwami.

“Why are you putting so much effort into this?”

“Because you’re gonna die of loneliness”, he snapped, throwing the empty cheese box against the blonde’s forehead. Chat furrowed his brow and tried to reach out to him, Plagg escaped of his grip effortlessly.

“I’m fine like this.”

“You talk to yourself _all of the time_. Aren’t those the first signs of madness.”

“Wouldn’t it be that you like her?”

“I could never like a human being you stupid kiddo”, Plagg retorted, green eyes flaring. They dropped the subject. Chat averted his eyes, relieved. it's true that he’s been thinking of Marinette for the past days, he doesn't also need Plagg breathing down on his neck. Furthermore, he has no reason as to come back to her. Does he want to, anyway?

_No I don’t want to._

 

 **Liar** , is what his mind is repeating incessantly as his body betrayed him and his steps had lead him to Marinette’s parents’ bakery. He truly has no reason to be there, yet he climbs to the rooftop and wonders if he really, _really,_ should leave but he’s crouching down and softly knocking on the hatch above Marinette’s room. He hears ruffle and suddenly the small door opens, almost hitting his face.

“ _Chat_ ”. Her voice sounds relieved and he wonders _why,_ as he wonders so many other things he doesn’t have an answer to. “Come… in? It’s cold outside.”

 _No,_ but he’s climbing down anyway. Marinette’s room is small and stuffy, there are plenty of fabrics all over the place, boxes and luggage that hasn’t been unpacked. The walls are covered in more, and more pictures, some of them are hanging from the ceiling. He takes one and swirls it around to discover it’s a Polaroid photo of Marinette with a 20s hat. He appreciates she’s pretty, with the lights at her back. She’s inviting, and it almost feels like it’s addressed to him.

“I will bring some juice and sweets”, she announces, and disappears downstairs before he can tear away his eyes from the photo. He continues swirling those hanging from the ceiling around, trying to piece together parts of a life he hasn’t been part of. Partially because he chose it. There is a strange feeling in the pit of the stomach as he contemplates all of those moments and wonders who the photographer was, and also wonders how much of this Marinette with eyes so painfully alive they saw.

She’s back not long after, leaving the small tray over the desk.

“Juice”, he states, voice almost playful.

“You have to come back in safe conditions”

“Are you underestimating my ability to drink?”

“I am” is the fast, teasing answer. Chat is struck again with the sensation of _familiarity._ Marinette is relaxed around him, is _welcoming him_ and Chat wonders _why_

_why why_

_why_

“Why haven’t you unpacked yet” is what he questions instead. Marinette shrugs a little.

“I was used to move around all of the time back in New York, I guess some habits stick hard to the bones”.

“Photography?” He gestures around.

“My roommate”.

“How were they?”

Marinette sits on the bed and offers him a sit next to her. Chat hesitates a moment before joining, keeping the distance between both bodies.

“He was kind. And purely bohemian. There is something special in those photos, you can tell how the person in them is”.

Chat doesn’t give it a second thought to know it’s true. The Marinette he sees in those pictures is one he knows, even though he doesn’t.

“The magic of the Polaroid, I guess. I brought one with me, do you want to see it?” But she’s already fumbling around, not waiting for a reply. Chat finds himself _liking that_ . She was talking to him as if they knew each other for a lifetime, as if he didn’t spend three years of utter solitude and emptiness. As if he had been part of her life, too. A few seconds later Marinette is looking through the camera and shooting a photo. She shakes it in the air, Chat was so taken aback he could only stare at her, blankly. And that is exactly what’s revealed: Chat intensely looking at the camera, empty expression. There is something dangerous in the way his shoulders are tense, as if he doesn’t remember anymore how to unhold the world. Yet there’s also something natural in the way his hands are holding the glass, elbows resting on his knees, like _this is a place he comes back to_.

“I love it” says Marinette, simply. “Do you want one together? It’s kind of fun”. She’s sitting pressed against him _again_ , and Chat can smell her and can also feel his own heartbeat, making itself painful inside his chest. He barely has the time to straighten when Marinette snaps a new photo. This time his expression is less blank, but it’s hard to tell when Marinette is taking all of his view. She’s smiling, and there is relief in that smile,

_he wonders why_

By her closeness, he also notices she’s no longer wearing her polka dotted pendants. He doesn’t know why he remembers them, but he does. There is also the shadow of a tattoo in her left wrist, something he can’t make out, and her hair is the shorter he’s ever seen on her, curling at the height of her round jaw.

He’s about to say something about the photo when the new _snap_ starts him. Marinette is shaking in the air the new paper, and doesn’t allow him to see it when the picture reveals.

“Surprise photos are the best ones” is the only thing she offers, tucking the photo in the front pocket of the white and black blouse she is wearing.

Chat is, again, taken aback.

By the time he finds his voice she’s already finishing her juice. He’s somehow grateful she’s not pushing him, even though he doesn’t understand why. She hasn’t asked what he is doing here, even though he’s not sure himself. She just _accepted_ it and Chat trails his gaze along the wooden floor, not understanding what he’s feeling because _he’s not used to it._

“Do you… still have friends here?”

“As in…”

“Friends before you left”.

“I only kept in touch with Alya.” A quick glance of blue eyes, _analyzing_. “She spent the last summer in New York with me. Her life is a constant rollercoaster, I envy that. She’s been doing free journalism across France in her third year of career, she took a special course to do so. She’s seen so much of France, been told so many interesting stories, photographed so many different faces… Most of the photos of my wall were taken by her. Seeing so much of the world even if it’s such a little part… gives you another perspective. She tried a few relationships but…” Marinette looked up and then, added, quieter: “she only needs another pair of shoes, a notebook and a bag to belong somewhere”. A silence. It sounded like a kind of life he couldn’t aspire to, yet he was… glad, glad for Alya. He assumed the quiet peace inside him said so. As much as he assumed he liked to listen to Marinette and look at her while she kept on telling him the places where Alya had been, the gifts she’s brought her. “I know she keeps talking to Nino, he’s the only place she visits more than once. He’s living in Marseille, studying music. He’s in the prettiest city of all France but can’t get out of his house because he has to practice almost 12 hours everyday in addition to attending to music school”. She snickered quietly, bringing her legs to her chest. “I don’t know much of the rest… Rose is here in Paris! I met with her two weeks ago for a quick coffee. Can you believe? She’s dating that prince she was in love with back in high school… The one Ladybug and Chat Noir had to save once. She commissioned me for a dress, it was really sweet of her…” she trailed off, but started again no long after. “Do you remember Chloé Bourgeoise? I know you had to save her sometime… She’s actually opening some hotels all over Europe. The Major- well he’s not our Major anymore- is so proud of her it’s disgusting to try talking to him at all. Sometimes… it’s relieving to know you moved on from those people but sometimes it’s sad to see their photos on Facebook or Instagram and realize you were once part of it, but not anymore.”

Chat ended up saying, low and unsure:

“You’re part of other people’s lives now”.

The certainty of this fact was heavy on his chest. He forced himself to breathe and keep his mind in blank, hiding behind the glass of juice. Then he tried a bite of the cheesecake Marinette brought.

_cheesecake_

which happens to be his favorite. Plagg's, anyway.

“Where did your sappiness go? This is not the Chat I remember…” Her tone was serious, but the wrinkles in her eyes were playful, teasing. 

“Oh, you shall excuse my demeanor, my princess, this stray has forgotten how to talk to a lady”.

“Pretty much so”. There was a small smile in her mouth, where Chat’s eyes trailed off.

Marinette was _easy._ Easy to be around, easy to talk to, easy to listen. Nothing to do with the Marinette of the days of Adrien Agreste. The woman sitting next to him talked about experiences her lips didn’t say, but could be seen in the ocean of her eyes.

He was contemplating leaving since he didn’t have many questions left, Marinette replied to even those he didn’t formulate, but she stood up so suddenly it started him.

“Tell me, _kitty_ , have you watched Doctor Who?”

“No…?”

“No? It was my discovery back in New York, it saved me from being homesick. It’s like. The best show ever. Imagine the best thing you can, well then, _it’s even better than that”._

Chat was smiling, a little, a very little:

“That’s nearly _impossible_."

“You wanna bet? Okay. You got yourself into this”, she resolved easily, turning on her laptop and clicking fast across the files. “Get comfortable. It’s going to change your life.”

Chat arched his brows but did as told, leaning back on the thousand cushions of the bed. Marinette joined him, the laptop on her knees.

When the first scene played in, Chat found himself snorting and smiling, because it truly was  _ridiculous._

“This is like, the shabbiest thing I have ever watched.”

“Don’t insult the low budget.”

“Can I insult her costume then? As a fashion designer it has to _horrify_ you.”

“Oh, shut up. You will fall in love with her.”

“I highly doubt that”, Chat replied, because he was looking at Marinette. “Also, is that his boyfriend? He’s a jerk.”

“He’s the Doctor!”

“The Doctor is a jerk?”

“No more than you, certainly.”

“You flatter me, princess.”

“My pleasure”, she retorted back, eyes glued to the screen and shoulder glued to Chat's.

Near the end of the first episode, he groaned dramatically.

“This is seriously the worst show ever.”

“He travels through time and space _in a Police Public Call Box, this_  is _aesthetic._ ”

“If this is your idea of spectacular, then I’m the one _horrified._ The effects are _so bad._ Like, _**so bad.** _ I’m sure I could've done it better if I was the director.”

“Cheeky, aren’t we.”

“Just a little brave tonight.”

“The second episode is _even better.”_

“Isn’t this torture”

“You will fall for this so deep you will remember my words the rest of your lives, kitten.”

At the end of the third episode, Chat concluded this was the worst show ever. Marinette elbowed him on the side to catch his attention, a mute question in her eyes to which Chat looked up in exasperation before accepting he was going to watch the fourth one too. 

“Seriously, take out that stick up your ass already.”

He snorted, again, smile pulling at his lips.

“I only like the TARDIS.”

“You also like the Doctor."

“Maybe” he consented, because her head was resting on his shoulder.

 

“I wish I could travel in time and space”

 

 

> A pause.

 

“What for?”

Marinette made herself smaller in the space between the wall and Chat’s body. 

 

 

> “I would change things”

 

  
  


* * *

  
  


 

The rest of the week happened uneventful, as the rest of his life was. He patrolled around, only out of habit, since there wasn’t much he could do anymore. Plagg was more of a burden than ever these days, pestering him about diverse things that all lead to Marinette.

“Why are you so interested in her?” He asked that morning, irritated.

“Why not? She’s the first human you’ve been close to in years, _years,_ Adrien. Time doesn’t matter to kwamis as much as it does for you, but I could tell you were having a hard time. You can’t just spend your life sulking on your bed and patrolling at night can you?”

“I used to do so when I was a teenager.”

“But you aren’t anymore!” Plagg fidgeted in the air for a few seconds. “Besides, Hawkmoth is no longer here.”

Chat’s glare burnt.

“Are you saying I should, maybe, take off my ring and make you sleep for another hundred years?”

“You can do whatever you want, spoiled brat!” The kwami exclaimed, outraged. Plagg flew away from him and spent the rest of the afternoon in a forced silence, even though Chat apologized and could listen to his stomach grumble in the distance. He ended up leaving some cheese on the desk and left his apartment to run around the neighborhood until his limbs could no longer hold him still.

Unsurprisingly, his mind was empty, yet it wasn’t. It was so crowded with noise he could no longer hear anything. But when he could focus on some specific thoughts, all of them were about Marinette. So, again, unsurprisingly, he took a shower and rasped a _claws out_ without Plagg’s approval once he made sure the kwami ate all the cheese and took a walk over the rooftops of Paris in the darkest night to Marinette’s balcony.  

There, he made some discoveries: there were a couple of pots with peonies, a small portable table and a few Vogue magazines. Also it smelled funny, like…

“Pizza!” The hatch opened suddenly and Marinette’s head popped out, speeding up his pulse. Chat had already his claws out and was in a defensive position when the darkhaired’s laugh washed over him. “I knew there was a way to find you unprepared! So… crime lately hasn’t been as intense as in the old good days, huh?”

“You don't say” he mumbled, following her downstairs, a lightness in his heart he didn’t know was possible. On Marinette’s bed there was a gigantic four-cheese pizza, a couple of soda cans and some colorful macarons in a pretty box.

“Are you throwing a party?”

“Only for you, my savior.”

“Oh, you honor me, princess. How did you know I was up on the roof?”

“I heard you land”. She shrugged and offered him a quiet, confident smile. Chat’s eyes were smitten with the quirk of her lips.

“I doubt that’s possible…”

“You’re not as sneaky as you were in the past”. Marinette pushed him onto the bed and he complied, taking the same relaxed position he was during the last time. Next thing, he had a handkerchief and a slice of pizza warming up his fingers through the spandex. “Anyway… how was… your day?”

“Boring”. Chat stuffed half of the pizza in his mouth in the same go, gulping it down with a sip of soda. Then, hesitant: “how was yours…?”

“I got yelled at in the middle of the lecture for this girl next to me who was constantly whispering to her phone. She was just talking to herself, but the professor thought it was me. I’m unique to be in the spotlight, your boring day can’t compete with me.”

Chat eyes were still on Marinette’s face.

“I ran to my own door.” The girl made a grimace.

“I tripped over in the elevator and tackled down the only handsome professor in all the building.”

“Did he ask you out?”

“What? Why would he?”

“Well” Chat muffled his snicker with a new mouthful of pizza “an angel fell on him.”

There was a silence followed by a sudden throw of one of the cushions, aiming to his head. He ducked it easily, only to take in Marinette’s incredibly red face. He crooked smile.

“Is my charm back now? Chat 1 Princess 0?”

“Oh, if your bravado could feed the world hunger would no longer exist.”

Chat opened his mouth, closed it again, and bursted into laughter. It felt so new his chest ached with the effort. A second later Marinette was shoving pizza in his open mouth until Chat couldn’t keep wheezing, even though his stomach was still hurting with his laugh.

“I shouldn’t feel so embarrassed of making a very sharp point, but you’re second-hand embarrassment today.”

“I’m sorry?” He tried, after he managed to gulp down the pizza with all the can of soda. Marinette opened a new one for him without asking. It was  _as if she knew him._

“Apology dismissed. You will have to do better, like, watch the next six episodes of Doctor Who.”

 _“What,_ seriously. You shouldn’t be so picky over me being _so cheesy.”_

“Am I not allowed to be picky with my men?” She threw in a couple of fluttery blinks that got Chat realizing _he liked this._ He liked this back and forth with Marinette, it made him feel  _alive_.

Maybe it was okay to be here, as long as he was wanted, he supposed. She had looked like she was waiting for him, and Chat never had someone waiting for him to come back. It was a confusing feeling as much as it was pleasurable, so he shrugged it off and occupied his mind with the next episode of Doctor Who. Marinette was visibly enjoying herself, relaxing against his side like she was also at ease for being in company with him.

At some point during the episodes, Chat’s gaze drifted from the screen of the laptop to Marinette’s hands entwined over her stomach, and when she lay her head on his shoulder, he found himself staring at her dense eyelashes and the tip of her nose from above.

“Bad Wolf is a concept you should remember” She informed him, after hours of silence. Chat was snapped brutally back to reality and he stared at the show, wondering how did time slip away from his grasp so quickly. It was nearly 5:22 am.

“Don’t you have lessons tomorrow you have to attend to?”

“It’s okay, I can get in around mid morning, don’t fret.”

“Should I be complaced to know you’re being irresponsible on my sake?”

“Out of the couple, Chat Noir was the irresponsible, wild one wasn’t it?”

Chat smiled, a little, it tugged at his right corner.

“You misheard that information, definitely Ladybug was the reckless one”.

“Sure, _chaton._ _”_

In those three visits- including the fourth one that would happen, and the fifth, and the sixth- Marinette didn’t ask him a single time where Ladybug was, contrarily at what happened the first time he showed up as Chat Noir after Hawkmoth’s death. _Is ladybug alive? Is she done with Paris? Has Paris lost its symbol of luck?_ He didn’t respond, because he didn’t know where Ladybug was either. She probably abandoned him, as the rest did.

 

The sixth time he visited her, she was contemplative, sitting on her bed. He knew she had been waiting for him because there was an open box with macarons at the edge of the table.

“What’s up?” He asked after a few moments of silence. Marinette’s eyes seemed to notice him for the first time, stabbing daggers on his chest as they slid down his body and then up to his face again. It raised a goosebump on his neck.

“Do you think… You can take me out?” She didn’t formulate further, so he obliged to ask:

“Take you out?”

“Like, flying across the rooftops of Paris”.

“It can be counterproductive to be spotted with a superhero”.

“ _Chat”_ she mumbled and it was everything he needed to hear. He took off the baton while Marinette sneaked against his side and fit her small frame around him, as if they both were _part of a whole_. Chat ignored his own quick breathing in favor of expanding the baton until both of them were standing over Paris. He was holding her firm, but it didn’t seem necessary. Marinette had closed her eyes and lifted her face, wind ruffling her hair, wildly. Her expression talked of freedom.

(Chat, again, was staring.)

 

“What is this for?” He dared to ask at the end. 

The girl stayed silent, until her body moved slightly and her arms came to circle around his neck, her front pressing against his. It was impossible by now to pretend his heart wasn’t demolishing his ribcage as his free hand held her waist automatically.

“There are things I really miss”, Marinette ventured, quietly. A silence.

“I do, too.”

“Like… what…?”

It took him a long time to rasp out:

“Ladybug.”

But it wasn’t all true, so unable to stop he kept on:

“Sometimes, the life I used to have in the first years of Chat Noir. A purpose” _a family_ he swallowed down, but it was implied in his tone. Marinette’s grip tightened around his neck. The curves of her body merged warmly against his, inciting the burning of a feeling in his low stomach he couldn't name. His mind was quiet, for the first time in years.

The moment didn’t last long, as Marinette started to freeze and Chat lowered both of them down to Marinette’s room. There was an unspoken second of hesitance from both of their parts, and before he could reach out to (maybe, embrace her, it’s only body heat, he told himself, but he was a _liar_ ) she was already climbing on the bed, seeking warmth in the coziness of her blankets.

 

“I’m sure Ladybug misses you too”, she stated in a low mumble. Her eyes were attentive, boring holes on Chat’s face as he dropped his gaze to the floor and a bitter snicker made its way out of his lips:

“I doubt so. She ran away when I needed her the most. Never a goodbye, never an apology. She just vanished.”

His voice sounded much more strained than what he intended to, and he hated himself for it. All of this was supposed to be over, buried along Adrien Agreste.

“Maybe… she had... her reasons...”

“You really think so?” Chat snapped, still not meeting her gaze. He didn’t want to expose himself like this but there was no going back: Marinette was seeing through the spandex the person he really was behind the covers: an empty body filled with the echo of rage; absence of any emotions.

“Why would she disappear if she hadn’t had her reasons? I’m sure… she loved you, Chat.”

“ _Loved me_?” He retorted, incredulous, this time looking up at her with eyes of hurt.

“She was your partner” she cut in, before his irritation could grow. “You fought along each other for years. There was only one person besides yourself how could understand you: Ladybug. That’s a connection beyond our comprehension. It doesn’t just break.”

“Our connection maybe, but I did.”

If Chat hadn’t been staring at his own knees he would’ve seen the way Marinette’s face contorted as if she had just been sliced open. The knives in her guts refrained her from opening her mouth until she was sure she could keep her voice in control:

“ _I’m sorry_ ”, she said, because she was.

“It’s no use” he said, because it wasn’t.

The rest of the evening was mildly uncomfortable, as they were purposely avoiding each other but failing at keeping their bodies apart, since gravity was bringing them together in that space they called bed but was more of a quiet peace they couldn’t have built otherwise. It was Marinette who opened a window in the oppression of his life, it was Marinette who gave him something to look forward to. _Meet her._ It didn’t matter what they really did in that time, either talking, either Chat listened to her ramble about her day either they were watching a show or he was just lying next to her side as she finished her essays. He discovered he liked the way her hair fell around her face and tangled in her neck when he slid his gloved fingers through it for the first time. Marinette shuddered under his touch and lowered her neck to allow him room to explore.

“College is taking a toll on me this month” she bemoaned, silently scooting closer to Chat until she was between his legs, almost pleading with her dropped shoulders for some sort of stress-relief.

Chat hesitated briefly before starting to rub symmetrical spots between her shoulderblades.

“Sorry… about what happened… weeks ago”, the blonde started, voice low and tentative, brushing her shoulders in a way that made her suck in a sharp breath.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I asked”. Then, quieter: “I understand… … the feeling of incompleteness… You are… so empty you can’t even be sad.” Marinette looked at her left hand, rubbing it automatically and absently. “Isn’t it one of the worst punishments… You’re not allowed to be sad, so you can’t move on. It’s just the remaining void after being teared apart what was part of you”.

Chat noticed almost abruptly he stopped massaging. He slid his hands over her back, down and up, warming her skin. Marinette mumbled a quiet _wait_ and took off her long sleeve tshirt. The following seconds he lay her hands on her skin it tangled his insides in a way he’s never felt before, retaining his breath in his desperation to hide the smashing of his suicidal heart against his ribcage.

“If I was ladybug… I would feel lost without you”, she added, and Chat’s fingers faltered for a moment. Marinette’s weak chuckle made her slightly curl up. “But I am not. I am Marinette, and I have you”.

In the moment she turned over her shoulder to stare at him with those bright blue eyes promising the sky, Chat knew he lost. _He lost_ , this battle, this war, he didn’t know _what,_ but his trembling hands replied for him what he could not: _Chat belongs with you._

Marinette’s timid smile was the quake that shook his bones with longing in a way that made Chat grab her face harshly and smash that shy mouth on his, as if he desperately needed to flood his lungs with oxygen again, even though he was _drowning_ in her mouth. His grip tightened when her body found a way to melt with his as her mouth did, so ravenous and solid Chat ended up with his back on the wall, the harshness of the material cold against his muscles as Marinette fit in his lap like they were meant to exist like this: consuming each other.  

Some bodies are meant to collide.

Planets are bent under the laws of the universe and bent forward is what Chat is, mouth falling on Marinette’s, rip apart (her clothes), run into each other in the tongue he slides over her upper lip, in the quick exhalation of air, in the way they are two pieces shaping a _together,_ building, building, building heat, blooming spring on Marinette’s neck down to her collarbone; her fingers so deep in his hair he feels the scratch of her nails, the skin melted on his neck, her embrace around his head so tight the only thing holding her from falling backwards on the bed is Chat’s arms around her waist.

“I can’t… take… off the suit” he pants and Marinette is wrapping her legs around his body in a way that is saying _it’s okay I_

_understand_

and Chat believes it every time her teeth sunk on the column of his neck, on his shoulder, on his chest. She’s reckless balancing both bodies, contorting, Chat’s arms won’t hold their gravity for longer. He gasps for life in her mouth and she concedes with a moan meant to burnt down his insides. Marinete sways her hips against his and the hero growls deep in his chest before allowing them both to fall onto the bed.

The hit has Marinette’s gaping for air as she arches her back off the mattress and Chat combes his spine over her front, undulating both bodies in tandem before grinding on her in the down.

Marinette’s eyes are glassy and bloodshot, her ribs appearing under the surface of her skin when she arches again; he rocks on her, breath laboured and wet as his arms tremble with the effort of keeping his sanity.

But he could also abandon himself in the corners of her bones, in the walkway between her breasts, the declivity of her abdomen, her legs, her mouth, her eyes.

“ _Chat”_ she asks or prays or pleads and he’s moving and moving and moving, they are becoming lost, reckless, wild together, building fire in their insides until it explodes, leaving nothing but warmth and ashes.

 

“I…” he wheezes but his mouth finds something better to do than talk when his lips shape against hers sharply, once and again, once and again, once and again, Chat ignoring the burning of his lungs in favor of the warmth of his gut and the nonexistent air of her mouth

(let him die like this)

“... need to go”.

He has nothing to offer

(he’s broken)

Suddenly Marinette stiffed and Chat didn’t give himself time enough to rethink his choice as he was sliding under of her and jumping through the hatch on the ceiling to the dark night of Paris, running over the rooftops ignoring the mess between his legs.

 

Never a goodbye, never an apology. _He just vanished_.

* * *

  
  


 

 

Plagg slumped on his shoulder, under the collar of his white dress shirt as he picked up some of the groceries for the week. The kwami had been surprisingly quiet over the past days, he didn’t even ask for food. Instead, he was more affectionate than ever, so much that Chat started finding it annoying. Instead of sleeping curled up on the pillow as it was his habit, the kwami decided to find a comfortable spot over Chat’s face, which translated in night dreams of asphyxia as the body of the magical creature obstructed his nose.

“Are you falling in love with me, Plagg?” He teased, while deciding which cereals he wanted to try this time. Plagg pointed at the chocolate stars and he supposed they were having chocolate stars that week.

“Maybe” replied sharply the creature on his shoulder. “Have I ever told you how good you smell? It’s almost like rotten cheese, _my favorite_ ”.

Chat snorted through his nose, barely an exhale of air.

“You _do_ smell like cheese. I’m bathing you as soon as we arrive at the apartment”.

“I’m not your dog” huffed the kwami, but he wasn’t opposed to it. The blonde knew he enjoyed having his head rubbed with the soap Chat bought only for him. “Say” he added, after a while, “what are you going to do?”

The boy furrowed his brow, bangs falling long enough as to cover one of his eyes.

“Patrol”.

“And?”

“Isn’t being Paris superhero enough for you?”

“Is it _for you_?”

Chat knew if he could hate Plagg, he would do it right now. The kwami grew to know him better than himself, and as it was comforting, it was disturbing. He didn’t reply. Plagg conceded for the rest of the shopping, even though when they got to Chat’s apartment he started to rub his paws over the boy’s cheek until he rolled his eyes and sushed him away.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Plagg looked at him almost _innocently_ if it wasn’t because Chat _knew better._

“I’m trying to fill with affection the hole you don’t allow Marinette”

“I fucking _hate you_ ”

“Go see her”

“Why?”

“Because she’s waiting for you?”

“And?”

“I didn’t know you wanted to be the Ladybug of your relationship with her”.

The hurt in Chat’s eyes made the kwami put up an expression of real regret.

“I know you don’t want to hear it but things are this way, _Adrien_ ”.

“ _Don’t_ ” he hissed, but Plagg didn’t yield:

“You’re Adrien Agreste. You can’t be denying it for longer. It’s not healthy. This thing” the kwami flew to his chest and pressed both of his paws on it, “is not going to stop feeling heavy until you choose to let go, kid”.

“What would you know about it anyway” Chat snapped, turning on his heels.

“True, what would I know that I have lived for thousands of years taking care of all the stupid Chat Noirs that preceded you. You are not the first human being in suffering a loss, and it doesn’t last forever. Stop self-pitying yourself”.

“I’m not self-pitying myself! I didn’t choose this!”

_“Then why are you conformed living like that?”_

_“Because!”_

Chat’s voice trailed off and his shoulders sank down, in defeat. The kwami felt an empathetic wave hit him so hard he fluttered nervously around the blonde’s head.

Then, quiet:

“Adrien, if you don’t want to listen to my words… listen to hers”.

Chat squeezed his eyes shut and then, with tired voice: _claws out._

 

 

 

It was nearly noon when he landed softly on the rooftops of Marinette’s university building. He waited for her lessons to be over and followed her in the distance, taking time to observe her morning routine as he’s done often for the past weeks. She gets out of the building to the café around the corner to eat a quick sandwich and probably a mug of tea. Sometimes she entertains herself sketching on her notebook, sometimes she comes back quickly. She is always alone. There is a determination in her demeanor indicating she doesn’t want to be accompanied, anyway.

He suddenly understands, being alone was her choice.

And then,

why

This time isn’t different from the others. She’s wearing a long red trench coat that makes easier to spot her in the distance, as if she’s made to be seen, even though she hides. Chat can make out she’s also wearing rain boots and that makes him smile a little. She likes to step on puddles. He also knows she likes to crush the dry leaves under her soles, she often follows the path of the falling leaves as she walks home.

She gets there past 4pm, exhausted. The way her lids fall talks about bad nights of sleep and Chat feels guilt deep in his ribcage even though his eyes match hers. There is a quiet _knock knock_ on the roof and Marinette’s head is out on the terrace.

“Come in”, Chat obligues. He normally doesn’t take any formalities and just jumps in. But he, really, doesn’t know if he’s lost the privilege of invading Marinette’s life as he wants.

_Cruel,_

says his head,

_he shows up but never guarantees returning_

Marinette doesn’t seem to mind, _no_ , he corrects, _he’s never asked_.

Then, he understands.

Understands the colossal resistance of her undeserved faith _in him_. It weighs on him so heavy his shoulders sink.

 

“Marinette”, he croaks, and she knows. She’s by his side before he has time to blink, and coerces him to lie on the bed. Her arms wrap around him, her fingers soothing, carding through his hair.

Chat closes his eyes and breathes her.  

Marinette’s fingers falter when there is a low quiet rumble from the hero’s chest, and it takes a time for her to understand the soft deep sound is a purr. It’s quiet and rhythmical with his heavy breathing, displaying openly Chat’s vulnerability. She holds him tighter.

She doesn’t say _I’m here,_ but her body does in the way it wraps around him willing to be his shelter, his shield, his _suit,_ in the way her free hand is clutching his shoulder closer, _closer, closer_ , as Chat’s purr is so low it might disappear if she lets go of him, he might _break,_ if she lets go of him.

So she doesn’t.

His hair smells like her highschool days and her heart burns, but not as much as their bodies melting together, because _they are part of a whole._ Marinette kisses the blonde locks of hair, lowers herself sliding along his body to press a kiss on his forehead, on the tip of his nose, Chat’s purr interrupts as his breath stutters when she lifts his chin to kiss him, one, two, three, four times. She’s saying _I’m sorry_ , _stay, it’s okay, I’m sorry._  

She’s glad his eyes are closed, because she’s pale, and she doesn’t want him to find out her heart is a clockmaking bomb about to explode in the moment he speaks out.

 

 _I’m sorry,_ is the only thing she can offer, because she is.

 _Won’t do nothing_ , is the thing he will say, because it won’t.

 

So she clings onto him as much as he’s seeking for a sanctuary in her skin where he can be only a man, with no world to save but himself.

And he’s worth saving.

 

An hour passes, another follows. There is a soft beep echoing in the silence they both know well. He doesn’t move.

Marinete obligues her chest to breath and her eyes to stay dry as her arms squeeze him tighter, another beep.

Chat is still purring, quiet and fragile, like he himself doesn’t dare to even breathe, like he doesn’t deserve to be here, and Marinette hurts, hurts, hurts.

Another beep.

Her stomach is tangled in a knot so tight she’s sure if she moves she will throw up her insides. She’s pleading that tremor shaking her body is not her, but her heart. It takes the last beep to understand it’s Chat.

There is a flash of green light and his hands clasp at her.

 

 

Marinette’s holding the oxygen in her lungs.

Her thoughts are so loud they overpass her pulse, _i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry_

“I’m sorry” is what he says instead, so quiet she barely listens to it. He’s the only one who shouldn’t be is what Marinette’s sealed lips can’t tell. She slides down on the bed again, very slowly, informing him of her intentions before both of them are lying face to face. Marinette knows her cheeks are heating up as the boy with the spring eyes manages to hold her gaze for a few seconds, before casting them away. His whole face is shouting /please accept the part of me I can’t/ and Marinette is faintly ghosting her fingers over his exposed cheek   

he’s prettier without the mask

A thick silence.

“Aren’t… you… surprised…”

Marinette’s inhale of oxygen is shaky. Chat’s skin is warm and soft under the tip of her fingers, his bangs have grown longer than what she remembers. His face is larger, his jaw sharper.

“I know who you are” she breathes out because _she knows._ There is fear contorting Chat’s expression. She offers a timid hesitant smile that doesn’t get to shape her lips. “You are Paris guardian, symbol of safety. You represent the best humanity can give”.

Chat lifts his eyes to look at her again, look at her like she’s the _only hope_ he’s got and there is a lump slowly ascending in Marinette’s throat. She pleads silently she won’t throw up. not now he needs _Marinette_ not now not now not now not now

There is a conflicted expression twisting his features before he speaks up again:

“I let my father d

Ladybug did.

No, I

Ladybug _did_ , Chat.” A silence. She swallows heavily. Then, a whisper:

 

 

> She’s the one who holds the responsibility of what happened. **Blame her** , not yourself.

Chat visibly tenses.

“You _don’t understand_.

I let my father _die_ . I _watched_ how it _happened_ . I let Ladybug carry on with the responsibility, I turned my back on her . I failed her . Not only I am not worthy of wearing this suit, I also am _not good enough_ to wear it. I can’t even......

I come here, I take everything you give me

and I _leave_

 

He doesn’t say _I can’t even love you,_ but Marinette hears it anyway. She doesn’t realize she is crying until a tear streams down her nose. It pretty much feels like unclogging the river: she cries, cries, cries, tries to keep it quiet but the sobbing shakes her whole small frame, her fingers are clenched in Chat’s white dress shirt. She wants to die. The crying mixes with the nausea and her insides twist, one, two, three, four times, she bites on her lower lip until it bleeds inside her mouth, she barely hears Chat saying _i’m sorry_ his hands are cold and sweaty when he forces her fingers open, murmurs _i won’t come back again, i’m sorry for hurting you_ and despite Marinette’s desperate yell _NOT AGAIN_

he leaves.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The day is cold. March has greeted them with a long, strong snowstorm, triggering the stop of the traffic and the daily activities of the Parisians. For everyone but one: there is a slender black figure running across the rooftops of Paris like he’s trying to escape from something biting his heels.

His strides are firm, though the snow is tricky and slippery; his body rasps the ground when he loses balance, but stands up with the impulse of the fall and keeps running. His suit hasn’t suffered any damage. Some wounds aren’t visible, after all.

 

This is the only thing he truly knows: to _run away._

But he can’t escape himself.

His own shadow is chasing him through the city, the air around him thick with the weight of his demons.  

Chat doesn’t remember a time in which he’s not been empty. Until now. His insides hurt with every repetition of it’s not self-pitying, it’s not self-pitying, it’s not self-pitying, but then lower and lower love me, love me, love me. Someone has to do it if he can’t.

His legs are exhausted but he keeps running. He’s still the same Adrien Agreste of his adolescence. Marinette had usurped his identity inch by inch until it was painfully obvious it’s not enough with only being Chat, but he’s not Adrien anymore.

He jumps and, for a few seconds, _flies_.

 

_he wants to_

 

The air in his lungs burns, but it’s frozen when it pases his lips. The Eiffel Tower is standing in the distance, almost mocking him, _i’m more of a guardian than you are,_ and he can’t stand it. If he can’t be Chat anymore,

what’s left of him?

Plagg had formulated to his silent question, _you are who you build,_ but, then, what did he do over three years? He spent that time as a spectator of his own life, not taking part of it. Patrolling? He knows it’s a ghost of what it used to be, it’s the illusion of a purpose. Bullets bit his flesh, bombs burn his skin. He can’t save humanity from itself.

 _I’m a magic being,_ exposed Plagg once, _when there is no magic around there is no much this suit can do._

Please, please, he thinks, as he jumps from another building, _let me come back in time._

But then,

no

The truth is: he doesn’t want to give up Marinette for Ladybug and the promise of the future they had. His father is long gone, his partner is long gone, his friends are long gone, he doesn’t know who he is but he knows

/no/

he doesn’t give up Marinette.

It dwells in his heart so heavy he trips over and lands on all four, panting laboriously.

**/no/**

Plagg said _you build yourself, you can be who you want to be,_ and he wants to believe it. He _needs_ to believe it _but he doesn’t know how._

When Chat gets home his muscles are quivering. The warm shower doesn’t make it for him, he’s exhausted when he sits on the bed and watches with empty eyes the screen of the tv. They are talking about bots being lurched into space, and he thinks _a police public call box would be better_.

Then, _he misses her._

He misses her so deeply his throat closes and his eyes fill with the rage of the unshed tears. His heart _beats._ Marinette has made him so painfully alive it _hurts._ Loving her when he has nothing to offer _hurts._

There is a quiet sound outside he misses under the cries of his own thoughts.

The sound outside is repetitive and when it finally reaches his ears he notices it’s a knocking on the glass of the balcony door. He turns around, slowly, and his ribs squeeze his insides painfully when Marinette stares back from the outside.

There is a long moment of silence in which he only can stare at her, taken aback, before she pushes the balcony door and it opens; Chat always leaves it unlocked.

“How…” his voice falters. She rubs her arms, apprehensively.

“I had to ask a favor… to an old friend…”

Ask a favor to an old friend? She appeared in _his balcony._

“But how do you…” get here, still talk to me, look at me like that, “... know where I live…?”

She twists a shaky smile. Her cheeks are reddening for the increasing warmth despite the pale of her skin and Chat has to look away.

“You’re not as sneaky as you were”, is everything he gets as a reply. He knows if he pries further Marinette won’t talk, so he hides his entwined, trembling hands between his knees and keeps staring at the floor, not sure if he deserves to look or talk to her at all.

“You were missing all our dates so I guessed I had to tuck the cat out of the hole”. Even though she chuckles, the whisper of her voice speaks of nerves and insecurities. She’s not certain she can be here but she’s determined to.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles. He is. He really is.

When she crouches down between his legs there’s nowhere else he can look but at her face. Those bright blue eyes, the disheveled hair, the red dotted pendants she’s wearing. They look pretty on her. They look like they _belong there._

He doesn’t know where he belongs anymore.

Marinette’s voice is calm and reassuring when she asks, _why,_ and he’s quiet and miserable when he replies _you see me_

_bare_

it hurts so much there is a sob crushing his chest and before he can cover his face Marinette is already there, pressing his face against her collarbone, please don’t go, he whimpers, and

I won’t

she promises. She sounds as broken as he is, and it pains Chat further. He’s bleeding out for so many wounds he doesn’t know how to cover them anymore. He feels a touch on his left hand and his kwami is looking up at him, sympathetically. He stayed.

He always stayed.

I won’t give you up, and Marinette hugs him tighter. She’s crying too, both of their bodies shaking against the other, stealing warmth from the other.

 

“You… are… allowed to forgive yourself, Adrien…”

 

He shakes his head one, two, three, four times.

“I failed... Ladybug. I can’t bring her back”.

And then, hoarse:

“She forgives you”.

His shoulders sink.

Ladybug _forgives him._

 

He knows those words are coming from _Marinette’s_ mouth, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“There are things we need to let go... She’s now part of your past... that’s okay. You will be always Chat Noir even if you don’t wear the suit anymore, as much as you will always be Adrien because there are things we can’t erase… but we don’t have to. What we are now is not what we were. What we are now… is what we want to be”.

Then, lower,

_what do you want, Adrien Agreste, Chat Noir?_

 

He doesn’t know who he is, but he knows what he wants. He wipes his face roughly before lifting it up. Marinette’s shouldn’t ever cry. Marinette shouldn’t be alone, even if she chose to. Marinette shouldn’t stay up every night waiting for him because she doesn’t know if he will show up.

“A life with you” he rasps out, and she has to cover her face to stop the loud sob that cracks her body.

 

 

 _A life with you_ ,

he promises.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Saying goodbye to Plagg is like getting a part of himself ripped off. The black kawami doesn’t tease him about it, doesn’t try to stop him. He only says _you can heal each other,_ and Adrien wonders what it is that Marinette can’t heal about herself, but as many other things, he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to talk about the past three years, so he understands Marinette has secrets to keep to her.

“I will miss you” he states simply, because he will.

“I’m with you” Plagg replies, because he will always be.

The kwami rubs his forehead against Adrien for a few long seconds and when he parts the blonde knows it’s the time.

“I will meet you in the next life, Adrien”.

He smiles, weakly.

“Goodbye, Plagg”, and with that, he’s taking off the ring. The kwami disappears. There is only silence.

Except _not exactly,_ because he can hear Marinette’s pacing in the living room. His apartment won’t be empty again and maybe there is a chance he can call it _home,_ since she is here.

 

“How did it go?”

“Difficult.               Easy.”

Marinette nods. _She understands._ Their hands are entwined before they realize, and fall into step as they leave the house, _fitting together._

“What will we do now?”

Marinette turns to him, with a mischievous smile.

_“Save Paris”_

It turns out to be something totally unexpected as she hands him the controler of the gaming device at the arcades and picks up the red robot, ready to kick his ass and save Paris,

as they did once,

 

_long ago._

 

**Author's Note:**

> ((I'm sorry for grammar mistakes!!))


End file.
